Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
by BornAsTheSeventhMonthDies
Summary: Alyssa's personal war against her enemies. To the tune of Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening.
1. Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

**All right, all right. Rip my 'ead off. But this came to me and I had to put it down.** ** _Shut up, Jake_** **, you may be saying.** ** _You were supposed to write three things that we voted on and you abandoned all three of them unfinished,_** **you may be saying.** ** _We don't want to read any more of your rambling trash,_** **you may be saying.**

 **Well, that's all very well for you to say. But there's something about carrying on with a story that I have no interest in that galls me. (by the way,** ** _gall_** **is a word that should be used more. Along with** ** _scurvy_** **,** ** _laggard_** **, and** ** _flay_** **. Do you agree?)**

 **Quick status report:**

 **1\. Alton Karr's Guide blah blah blah. I will slap one last chapter on, along with a Complete stamp.**

 **2\. Untold Chronicles etc etc, workin' on it. Irregular updates. About five or six chapters left till completion.**

 **3\. Don't Read This Book. I'm still writing. Honestly, I don't know how long it'll be. At** ** _least_** **seven more chapters. Tryin' to think, but there are quite a few things that I want to put in that would probably take up a lot of space.**

 **4\. Solangelo Drabbles. First of all, madwamoose is a drabble genius and should make her own collection. But I will go on and on with that until I run out of ideas. Probably I'll never give it a Complete stamp. But if you have an idea for a Solangelo drabble, go to the story and review. Yes, I'm a review hog.**

 **5\. A Mortal in Camp and so on. To all you who've reviewed (the three of you): you're very kind. I will just wait the eighty whatever days until it gets automatically taken down and then let it get taken down. If it generates interest, I'll finish it. But otherwise, it's discompleted. Up for adoption, I guess. Any takers? I'll tell you the meaning of the prophecy and then you can have it.**

 **6\. Percy Jackson Song Spoofs. Erm, this is kind of lame now that I look back on it. I'm just gonna leave it up. If I get a stroke of genius, I'll update it.**

 **7\. Nope, that's it. Hehe. Just wanted to make the list longer.**

 **8\. No, seriously, I'm done.**

 **Well, anyway. This story is made up of chapter names that are lines from Robert Frost's poem 'Stopping By Woods On a Snowy Evening'. They all pertain to the chapter content. This is already complete, don't be afraid to get hooked, I'm just gonna release it chapter by chapter till I'm done.**

 **Okay, on to the story! And don't you trolls** ** _dare_** **report me. This chappie is made up of a ridiculously long AN because I had to. The first real chappie is long enough as it is. Read on, my good people! Take temporal tenderness from this tasteful tale of tribulation, terror, and triumph!**


	2. Whose Woods These Are, I Think I Know

"Go, run," Calen cried. "Leave me."

"No," I said. My tears streamed down my face, swimming in my eyes, obscuring my vision. I shook my head impatiently and my eyes cleared, if only for a moment. "Get up! You're not going to die today."

I grabbed his arms and hoisted him onto my shoulders.

"Alyssa…" he moaned. "I'm dead weight. They won't kill me yet. Just…go…"

He pushed me away. As he fell to his hands and knees on the frozen, hard-packed ground, another arrow whistled through the air, narrowly missing my head and impaling itself in the tree behind me. I flinched, and ducked instinctively.

"Go!" he shouted, his voice hoarse. "Now…"

Another arrow. Striking the ground just at my feet. They weren't aiming to kill.

"Run!" he screamed at me. He sank lower. I hesitated.

"I'll come back for you, Calen," I decided aloud. "I promise."

The third arrow missed me by a hair, tearing a strip out of my loose-fitting sweatshirt.

I ran.

Behind me, two more arrows fired. I heard the _twang_ of bowstrings released, and dropped to the ground. The arrows whistled over my head. I jumped up and kept running.

As I glanced back, the first three of them came through the thick undergrowth of trees. Though they were bare, the trunks served to block vision, especially when you wore gray. As they did.

They stopped at Calen. I paused for a moment. As I watched, the leader drew his sword. He slammed the hilt onto Calen's head. The boy needed no more encouragement to pass out. He went limp.

The leader pointed at me. I started running again.

* * *

I ran and ran. For what seemed like hours. The sun stayed in the same, irritating place in the sky, indicating that no matter how long it seemed to me, no more than half an hour had passed.

As I ducked under a low hanging branch, then leaped over a shrub, I sensed someone…somewhere…watching.

I crouched as I landed. I heard nothing. No crackle of dead leaves underfoot. No flap of wings. No sound of breathing, other than my own, labored, panting.

But there was someone out there. Someone with the stamina to follow me. Someone with the agility to not make a sound. And someone smart enough to know where I would turn and what path I'd take.

But where they invincible?

I drew a knife. A throwing one. _Death_ , I'd named it. My lucky blade. My throwing blade. It had cost many of my enemies their lives, and I hadn't lost it for three years.

And now I raised myself to my full height. If they'd wanted me dead, they'd have killed me by now. They wanted to keep me alive, at least for the moment.

I held my breath. I turned in a circle, focusing on nothing, watching for that slightest movement that would give away even their beating heart. I heard no breath.

But there was someone there.

And I saw the rythmic movement of lungs. Raise, deflate. Raise, deflate.

And I threw my knife.

The blade flew, straight as an arrow, fast as thought. I watched it, as it went, almost in slow motion. It was perfectly aimed. I knew it would hit the target, as it had for three years.

And it struck the trunk of the bare tree, quivering, with a hollow thud that suggested the tree was dead, knocking bits of dry wood chips to the ground.

I instantly threw myself backwards. Years of fighting had taught me this. Never watch the blade. Never watch the shot. Never wait for them to attack; by then it was too late. I rolled into a crouch and leaped, hoping to dodge anything and everything my enemy threw at me.

I was a nanosecond too slow. A heartbeat too short. Or my enemy was too fast.

An arrow pierced my sleeve and hit my arm. Digging into the flesh, drawing blood. Probably a bad injury. Would probably have cost most normal people their limb.

But I wasn't normal, and I proved that now by snapping the shaft off, and throwing it away. Taking the arrow out safely would take too much time; tearing it out would only add to the injury; leaving it in would force it deeper. Ignoring the pain of the still-embedded arrowhead, I jumped to the side.

A second arrow whistled past. It hit a tree somewhere, but that was unimportant. In a game of reflexes such as this one, paying attention only to the urgent was essential to staying alive.

And I wanted to keep my life for the moment.

My enemy dropped into the small clearing. He had been crouching in a tree. I didn't know how he'd had the speed to dodge my knife blade, but: that wasn't urgent.

He slung his bow over his shoulder. I knew better than to use this movement as an opportunity to attack; his arm raised only reduced the time he needed to strike.

He drew a shortsword from the sheath at his waist. A detached part of my mind wondered how he had the speed to dodge my knife and keep up with my sprint, with a sword at his waist, but again, that wasn't urgent at the moment. Right now, I needed to stay alive. First kill this man, then run for the edge of the forest and get safe.

"Well, Alyssa," he said, in a deep voice. That I knew. "I thought you'd have learned not to come back to my woods."

"You have no right…" I hissed. "These are my woods. My people."

"These?" he asked, gesturing to the trees. He laughed and slashed a wide cut through the bark of the nearest trunk. And laughed again at my sharp gasp. "Does that bother you, Alyssa? Or this?"

He stabbed the sword's deadly point deep into the heart of another tree.

"You murderer," I growled. "Your head will hang on my wall."

"Oh, no," he said, smiling cruelly. "I think it's quite the other way around."

I drew two knives. _Death_ was my throwing knife, as were _Speed_ and _Hawk_. These two that I drew now, I had named _Blood_ and _Chaos_. They were my dueling knives.

"Five knives," he said, looking me over critically. "Well, well."

He was wrong; I had the five sheaths across my torso, yes, but also one in each boot and one in a sheath where an inside chest pocket would be. But I wasn't about to tell him that.

"I will kill you," I said. "I swear it on the—"

He interrupted me with a savage cry, and charged.

His first blow was a quick, downward strike. It had enough force to stop a charging bull, and would have probably shattered the finest steel. My defense would have melted if I'd tried to stop it.

But I had no intention of stopping it. I danced to the sides, relying on my reflexes to save me in this coming battle. My enemy was strong, yes, and quick, but when I'd tangled with him in the past, I'd been a fraction quicker.

He growled and lunged. With a twirl of my knife blade, I deflected it and turned it away.

We fought. His sword was an arc of death; anything caught in its path was destroyed. But my knives were the hummingbirds. They danced and dodged, cutting away at his defense, opening him for the final death blow that only I can see.

And it came. I had been slowly forcing him back, thought he didn't even notice it, one step at a time. And I had been analyzing his fighting style, opening his stance just a bit.

Then the time came. I executed a feint to the right. His sword went up to block it. His wider stance lost his balance as his momentum moved the sword a fraction higher than he wanted. He stumbled, he hit a branch, my daggers closed, he swung his sword.

Too late. My knives were in his heart.

Before his sword came down, I rolled back. He grunted. A fountain of blood turned into a river down his shirt, staining the fabric a dark, angry red. His eyes rolled.

"A good fight, Alyssa," he murmured. "Well…done…"

And my enemy died. Alone but for his conqueror, in his forest that he'd taken from my people. My people. They were beginning to be avenged. This man's death had been arranged by me, years ago. He was second only to their leader. Now…now he was dead.

It had been too quick. But I wasn't complaining.

Now all that remained was for me to flush out the rest of this black-hearted gang of killers.


	3. His House Is In the Village, Though

I wasted no time on the sadistic enjoyment of his body. He was dead, and I needed sleep.

My vengeance was close. Their death was at hand. I'd waited and planned for this moment for my whole life. All that remained was for me to drive them out.

And my people's home would be avenged.

For years I'd cried and wept over the ruins of the once great, safe, home, where my people had lived for countless generations and centuries. They'd learned, fought, loved, died, all here.

Here in this place.

Now it was in ruins. Destroyed by my enemy. In one day of darkness and destruction, the man who lay dead in the woods had helped to end countless lives, and crush the hope of countless more.

I was close to avenging it.

I stepped down the hill. A half-smile, half-sob came to my face, as I remembered all the summers spent here, safe. Safe.

No more. The great tree, a symbol of hope to many, now lay, splintered and broken. Burned.

At the foot of the hill, I could see the ruins. Thirty-odd buildings, once proud and strong, now littered the ground with their debris and ashes. Walls fallen, craters, stones at angles, all that was left of this place.

Further down, was the collapsed training ground. On my way to the place of safety, I stopped, in respect to all who'd trained here. Their skills rivaled those of the ancients.

Brought down. Killed. By the ones who I now sought to destroy.

I walked on. Past the fallen wood of the blue house, past the open, pillared dining area.

And to the cave.

Not even the inhabitant of this cave survived. The sole survivors were Calen and I. But the inside of this place was sufficient for my needs.

I lay on my cot. My knives I sharpened and polished, till they were pristine again. Then I slept. A dark, dreamless sleep. A restful one, which I needed for the coming day.

The coming day in which I would avenge my people and wipe out the remaining darkness in this place.

This place I called home.


	4. He Will Not See Me Stopping Here

I woke. The morning was crisp and cold. The winter days here were always so. I had grown accustomed to the cold, though I longed for warmth in these days of hardship.

I stood, clothed myself, strapped my sheathed knives to my chest, touched _Death_ to my lips, and set off.

I stood at the cave entrance long enough to say goodbye. I would never be coming back to this place. I'd stayed here for years and faced the painful memories only for revenge. Now I wished to leave. Go as far away as possible. Calen and I would make a new home for ourselves, somewhere far, far away from here.

And today I would finish my enemies or die trying.

I set off. Running. No need to get my bearings; I took this path every day.

Usually with Calen, though. Today was different. There was no one to talk to, no one to share my thoughts with. So I ran in silence.

There was a light snow falling. To a poet, the flakes would be beautiful. To a scientist, they would be unique. To a child, they would be amusing.

To me, they were an annoyance. They blocked my sight, even a bit, and that could mean the difference between life and death. Their light falling would mask the sound of a drawn sword, or a fired bowstring, or footsteps.

And I needed to hear those.

Sometimes, I longed for noise. My life, ever since my enemy destroyed my people, was filled with silence. There was no sound, save the occasional conversation from Calen. He wasn't much of a talker, though, which was fine with me. Neither was I. But there was something in me that longed for noise. The sound of a city. Chatter, cars, music.

I had none of that here. Except for the light crunch of my own footsteps, and the dangerous white noise from the falling snow, the day was silent.

So I was understandably surprised when I heard a gunshot.

My mind told me I couldn't dodge a bullet, so I didn't move. The echoes drowned out any way I could've told where the shot came from. But I wasn't wounded. And no visible puff of snow showed where the shot had landed.

Another shot. This time, I saw the flash. Again, the shot didn't touch me. I doubted the gunner was aiming for me, seeing as how I was such an easy target. I sprinted toward the flash.

It was a teenager. My age, sixteen or seventeen. Holding a handgun.

His eyes widened when he saw me, though he made no move to aim his gun.

I slid to a stop, twenty yards from him.

"You're…you're alive?" he asked, sounding amazed.

I didn't know what he meant. But I smiled unintentionally at the sound of longed-for noise. And not just any noise; a voice. Speaking to me.

"I am alive," I said, choosing my words carefully. I was startled at how loud I seemed to myself. "Why?"

"Do you come from…that place?" He gestured to my home.

"I do," I said. "What do you know of it?"

"I know it's no strawberry farm," he said with a short bark of laughter. "Who are you?"

"My name is Alyssa," I said. "And who are you, holding a mortal weapon in this place?"

He lowered it. "My name is Garrett," he said. "I'm searching for my enemy."

"And who is that?" I asked.

His expression went hard. "The one who did all _this_ ," he said, waving his hand at the destruction behind me. "I want his head on a pole and his hands on my wall."

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend," I said. I held out a hand for him to shake, crossing the distance between us. "I've killed that man's second. Now I'm working on flushing the rest of them out."

He stared at me. And glared.

He raised his gun, pointing it at my head. "Get down," he growled. "Down. Now!"

I didn't argue. I put my hands up and sat on the ground.

He fired.

I winced and closed my eyes, but felt no pain. No impact. What?

I opened my eyes, shook my head to remove snowflakes, and looked at Garrett. His gun was smoking, but it was pointed over my head.

I whirled. A body lay stretched out on the snowy ground, already dotted with white flakes. I jumped up and ran to him, rolled him over.

It was one of my enemies. He was bleeding from a wound in his chest, a perfect shot, through the heart.

"What bullets do you use?" I asked him.

"They're encased," he said. "Harmful to anyone."

I nodded my approval. I shed not a tear for the dead man; he deserved everything he got and more. My only wish was that the shot had hit a lung, or the jugular, so he could bleed out and feel pain. This man had killed my people. My family. He should feel pain.

I stood. "They know we're here," I told Garrett. "Did they know about you before? And are you alone?"

"They knew about me," he said, with a shrug. They've been tracking me for months. And vice versa. As for whether I'm alone?" He smiled.

"Not anymore."


	5. To Watch His Woods Fill Up With Snow

The woods were beautiful. And dangerous. The snow slowed us. But the image of the leafless trees, loaded with snow along the branches, and then unmarred snow on the ground. It was amazing.

"This is a beautiful place," Garrett said, staring at the scenery as we passed. "I could live here."

"Some do," I said. Then I let out an accidental strangled sob. "Used to."

He nodded sympathetically. "Did you lose your family?" he asked.

"Not that it's any of your business," I said. "But yes."

He frowned. "I'm sorry. So did I. But my family wasn't from here."

"Same enemies?" I asked.

"Same," he said. "So I want to kill him."

No need to say the name. We both knew who he was talking about.

We ran on. But he gazed at the trees and snow, as an artist or a child.

"Amazing," he muttered.

The sunlight, breaking through a thin overcast layer of clouds, suddenly through a light on the lightly falling snow. The water crystals flashed and glittered, giving the whole scene light. The shine on the snowy ground was bright, throwing the beams back into the air.

The trees, full of snow, seemed to glow with the reflection. The branches had piles of snow along each branch, fresh and unmarred, with icicles hanging from the bottoms.

The piles of snow at the base gave the whole thing an image of a perfect snow day, the image of a painting or a dream.

Then the smooth, unbroken, uncolored, pure white snow all along the ground, perfectly flat and stretching on in all directions, without grass breaking through or mud staining the perfect color, seemed to be a canvas, empty, ready, waiting. But there was no need to paint.

And then, as I was admiring it all as we passed, I remembered again my enemy. Enemies. And that they had ruined this all, for years and years. Decades. Even centuries.

In one day. One action. The attack on my home, the attack on my people.

And the beauty of the day was gone for me, replaced with the burning hatred. The hatred which had fueled my every action for seven years. And the hatred which would bring me to my enemy, and which would bring him to death.


	6. My Little Horse Must Think It Queer

We carried on. My enemies' house was far, at least five miles, and we had a bit of a run to make it there in time.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"House," I said, trying to conserve my breath. "That's where they are."

He kept up with me easily. I had to admit he was a bit bigger breathed than I was.

"I didn't know there was such a place," he said.

"It's where they come from," I answered. "Now shut up and let me run."

"You don't have to answer," he said, looking up ahead. "But I didn't know where they came from. I've just been sniping at them, taking out any scouts I find. I've killed four, five if you count that one just now."

I nodded.

"What about you? How do you fight them?"

"Raids," I snapped. "With Calen."

I'd told him about Calen. He nodded. "So are we gonna get him out first?"

"Wouldn't want him to miss the fun," I replied. "Now _shut up_."

We ran on for five minutes in silence.

"So, where do you come from?" he asked. "Other than that place."

My eyes closed for a moment. Blocking out the tears. No matter how much Calen and I held back our feelings about our old home, no matter how we put on the façade of unfeeling hearts…

It hurt. Hurt that in one day, the most skilled of the ancients was destroyed. Destroyed by science. Technology. And why, I knew not. I only know the hows. Death. Fire. These were my earliest days. Captivity in the House, to start with. Then one night: breakout. I found Calen and we'd had our personal war against them for the rest of my life.

"I don't want to talk about my old home and family," I said, finally. "Enough to know that I was trained by the best. My only goal in life, now, is to kill my enemy."

He nodded understandingly. "I'm sorry."

He didn't need to say more.

"But how have you survived all these years, by yourself, when they're trying to kill you?"

"In the cave," I answered. "I've had Calen."

He carried on running in silence.


	7. To Stop Without A Farmhouse Near

We ran for what seemed like hours, now in a comfortable silence. I liked to hear noise, but as I ran I needed to concentrate on running. Just running.

The snow was coming down harder now. The rest of the woods were almost invisible. I had picked a bad day to attack. Anyone who wanted to kill me could.

That was another reason for the silence. I needed to be able to hear enemies. A sword being drawn, a clanking of armor, the crunch of a foot on snow; these would be hard to hear both through the blanket of flakes and Garrett's chatter.

But we weren't attacked. The sounds I heard, instantly associated with hostility, turned out to be the hoot of an owl, the scrape of branch on branch, a rabbit's pounding, our own footsteps.

As we ran I went over what I was going to do when we got to the House.

First I would try to find Calen. I knew where they were holding him; I'd been scouting out the House for years. He would be in the cells.

Then together, we would kill my enemy.

I pictured the scene in my mind. There were dozens of beginnings to the fight. He could grovel, he could attack. Fight or flee. Snarl or snivel. I could tell him to prepare for death, or I could attack without warning. He could be ready for us. Or not.

Dozens of beginnings. But only one conceivable ending.

My enemy's death.

My thoughts of revenge occupied my mind for a minute. Then, as we passed a huge, gnarled tree, quite close to the edge of the woods near the icy lake, he skidded to a stop. "Wait," he said, taking his handgun out of its holster. "Just a second."

He closed his eyes. I heard a _snap_ of twig breaking. He whirled and fired, all in one movement.

Another of the enemies fell out of a tree, shot again, unerringly, through the heart.

"Let them suffer," I said. "Hit them through a lung."

"I don't need pointers on how to kill," he said. "They'll suffer enough in the next life, Alyssa."

Then he froze. "Do you…did you hear…"

And as he said those words, five of my enemies stepped from behind the trees.


	8. Between The Woods And Frozen Lake

When they came at us, Garrett put a bullet through two of their hearts. They dropped without a sound. Then the gun was empty.

He swore, throwing the gun at the closest thug. It hit him between the eyes. He grunted and blinked.

Our weapons were ready. I fought the first one for a minute, opening his guard, waiting until I was ready.

Then I backed him up, slowly, through the still-falling snow, until he came out through the last line of trees and stumbled on the sand by the lake. That was his mistake.

Now that he was off balance, I determined to keep him that way. Before my people were slaughtered, the lake usually didn't freeze in the winter, since they made sure they kept it clear. But now there was an inch of ice on the water. Not enough to hold someone's weight, but enough to keep the water below just above freezing.

I forced him back. He couldn't find a good grip on the sand, so my twin knives flashed all the quicker with the lighter defense he was putting up.

At last he stood on the edge of the water. I forced him out along the boat dock. At the far end of it, the boards were probably thirteen feet above the bottom of the lake. He slipped on the frozen wood, and scrambled backward, fear in his eyes now.

"You killed my family," I said simply, as I advanced. "Now you pay for what you did."

He shook his head, no words coming from his mouth. He managed to get to his feet, pointing his sword at me, his fencing skill forgotten.

I disarmed him with a simple stab to the hilt. The sword flipped out of his hands and onto the lake ice.

"Die," I said. I kicked him in the chest with all the force I had.

He flew a yard, then landed on the ice. With a wail, he shattered the ice, and slipped through, into the frozen water. A few moments later, a plume of bubbles came to the surface.

I nodded, satisfied. I turned.

And there, on the edge of the dock, were the last two.


	9. The Darkest Evening Of The Year

The snow was coming down worse than ever, making the dock wet and slippery. There would be no sound footing in this fight. I heard nothing from Garrett. In fact, the only sounds were the labored breathing of my enemies, and my own panting. Behind me, the ice was cracking, sending a spiderweb out across the lake, spreading from the black hole where the man had fallen.

The two men advanced slowly, without saying anything.

"So, what happened to Garrett?" I started.

They made no sound that they'd even heard me. The one on my right attacked.

For a few moments, the air was filled with quick strikes, clangs, and _ha!_ s. Then we disengaged. He took a step back.

The one on the left began an attack. He did better than his friend, since the side he attacked on forced me to move, losing any footing I may have had. The flurry of knife-on-sword took most of my attention, though I didn't ignore the other man.

But he seemed to be content to watch. My opponent lunged, I deflected it, he stepped back, and the other man attacked.

They were trying to wear me down. One man fought while the other one rested. I couldn't exchange blows forever. I had to go on the offensive.

The man who was resting had put his swordpoint in the soft wood of the dock, and was leaning on it, expecting me to concentrate on his companion. His mistake.

I took two steps forward, forcing my opponent back. Then with a shout, I kicked the other one's sword out from under his hands, and onto the breaking ice. He flailed, off balance. I blocked a thrust from my opponent, then stabbed the weaponless man in the stomach.

It wasn't fatal, but it started a gush of blood, and he screamed and fell into the water. It was only about six or seven feet deep there, but he made the mistake of holding onto his wound instead of treading water. The man I was fighting shouted to him to swim, but it was too late. The cold of the water had set in, and the man's limbs went numb. He sank to the bottom.

Another spout of bubbles rose to the surface, along with red blood, staining the dark water darker.

The man I was fighting stared at the hole in the ice, unbelieving. "They said…they said you'd be no problem," he muttered.

"You won't make that mistake again," I assured him, and roundhouse kicked him off the other side of the dock.

He hit the ice, sending up a splash of icy water, which I avoided like lava. If it hit me, I'd freeze in the cold air.

He came to the surface, howling. "You—you—" he spluttered, already stiffening. "Don't…"

His hands latched onto the dock. He began to haul himself up out of the water. He wouldn't last long in this cold, but I needed to find Garrett.

I stomped on his hands. He screamed and fell back into the water. Without waiting to see if he survived it, I took off.

I charged into the treeline. I couldn't see Garrett. Of course I couldn't see Garrett; if he was in any condition to move or stand, they wouldn't have left him.

I followed the footprints. He had fenced with his man for a while. The third one had followed me to the treeline, then doubled back towards Garrett. All three had fought for a while, making footprints all over, then…

Garrett had vanished. No footprints at all. The other two had followed me.

I looked around the spot where his footprints had disappeared. I saw nothing. At all. Anything.

"Father," I said. "Help me."

I hesitated, hoping, perhaps, for a sign, but nothing happened. No ghostly form, no divine flash of light.

I started running toward the house.

I got within a mile of it. Then things started to go badly.


	10. He Gives His Harness Bells A Shake

As I ran through the woods, the snowdrifts continually hampered my progress. They made it hard for me to both run and look out for traps. Also, any of my enemies could have been lying in wait, and I wouldn't have seen them until they threw a net over me.

The snow was coming down lightly, making it easier for me to watch out. But I walked lightly, slower, making sure that I wasn't walking into one of them.

Then an arrow shot from a tree.

When the bow _twang_ ed, I leaped backward. The shaft missed me by a foot, but then another one fired while I was off balance.

The only thing I could think of to do then was: jump. I jumped as high as I could, knowing full well as I did it that the arrow would just hit my legs.

It did. The shaft sank into my thigh and my whole leg burst into pain.

When I landed, the knee buckled. I fell into the snow, face-first, tears running down my face from the pain.

I grit my teeth and snapped the wooden haft in half. There were still about two inches and an arrowhead in my leg, but that would have to wait until later.

I glanced around, ready for a fight. But no one appeared.

I threw _Death_ directly at where the arrow had come from, hoping at least to startle somebody. But there wasn't the slightest movement.

Fine…

After retrieving my knife, I took a medic kit from my side pocket and patched it up. I cut the head out of my leg with a razor, wincing, silently, and then wrapped a bandage around it. Very tight. Enough to choke the bloodflow, which, in the long run, would be bad, but at the moment I just needed to not bleed out.

Then I limped over to the tree, behind from which the arrow had come.

It was a trap. A clever trap. Basically a tripwire, stretched between two trees. Then, when I hit the wire, an arrow would fire. Then two more, hitting the two places I could possibly have jumped to.

My enemy is clever, I reminded myself. My enemy is dark and devious, and after so long I can't be forgetting.

I shook myself. This was no use, thinking about it. I needed to carry on.

But there could be tripwires anywhere and everywhere. There was no way that my enemy could have known exactly where I would be walking.

I shook my head. There was also no way I could avoid it. Examining the tripwire now, even when I knew where it was, it was almost invisible. I couldn't see it, except when I held it against my skin.

So I kept to the open spaces. With a trap like that, there would be some mistake, in the timing or aiming, so I hoped that by giving myself this extra space, I would be safe.

I was wrong.


	11. To Ask If There Is Some Mistake

I walked for a minute. Only a minute. Sixty seconds.

And then I was attacked.

They came suddenly. I had no chance. My knives were stripped from me, my hands and legs were tied, and I was held on a stretcher and taken to the house.

Ten of them, in all. I had to admit: it was flattering that my enemy considered me such a threat as to merit these numbers.

And without boastfulness, I must say that I could have probably taken three of them. My training was such; and theirs wasn't. However, their numbers were too much. I managed only to wound one.

Then they took me.

They carried the stretcher to the House. It went faster than I'd expected. Only about six minutes. Through the journey, I cursed at them, threatened them, and honestly I had no fear.

When it came in sight, my great resolve and high spirits left me. My aggressiveness was gone, replaced by a new feeling.

Fear.

My plan had been to enter the House, with Garrett backing me up, and to take out the guards, rescue Calen, and kill my enemy. A perfect plan.

But I had not reckoned on entering the House on a stretcher, tied, surrounded by ten armed guards, and alone.

I felt fear. Deeply. I didn't fear for my own life, of course. I knew there was a better place, to which I was sure I'd go.

I felt the fear of failure. My enemy had done what he wished for a decade or so, uncontested. I had fought him for seven more. I had been sure of success. Nothing else occupied my mind, only the hatred of my enemy, my sorrow for my family, and my love for Calen.

And now that we were in the House, I felt the fear more deeply than before. He was too close. Both to me, physically, and to victory, permanently. If I couldn't stop him, I, who had trained for m lifetime and had not a single other goal, who could?

There was something wrong with this. If there was any justice in Fate, any pattern of good and evil, any reason why the world wasn't a tangled, anarchic mess of chaos and build-your-own-fate, I should be winning.

But I wasn't.

I hadn't lost yet, but the score was uneven. Very uneven. A comeback would involve: losing my bonds, retrieving my weapon, all before the guards attacked. Then defeat the guards, and their backup, and _their_ backup, and then killing my enemy.

Hard.

There was something unfair about the way this had gone, both for me and the world. My enemy didn't deserve to win.

I wouldn't give up, though. Though Fate had fallen and justice was nonexistent, I wouldn't stop till my last breath.

But I just felt the wrongness of my failure.


	12. The Only Other Sound's The Sweep

I felt the presence of death as I sat on my chair. There was silence. Total silence. I knew not why, but I felt that my enemy was torturing me. Long ago I had made the fatal mistake of revealing my fear of silence.

So now I sat, in the iron chair, in the iron room, of the man with the iron heart.

The room was bare. Steel or something of the like. They had left to me only my clothing; even my headscarf they had taken. My knives were gone, so was my medic pouch. Even my belt had been taken, since it could conceivably be used as a whip.

Now I waited in the room. The silence was ringing in my ears. My heartbeat echoed around the room. My breathing was deafening.

To fill the silence, I began to sing a song. An old song. It was originally in Ancient Greek, but my father translated it, before he – no. If I thought of such things, it would weaken me. My father had translated it. End of sentence.

" _Sleep, sleep, the sun is sleeping,_

 _The gods are watching, night is coming,_

 _Sleep, sleep, my child will sleep now,_

 _Someone's watching over you._ "

And with the last word I began to weep. Sob, cry, whatever name. But the tears ran down my cheeks and I mourned the loss.

My loss, our loss. Everyone's loss. My people had passed and there was no new opportunity. My family was dead. And Calen and Garrett. They were gone, killed or trapped.

I was in a bare, silent room, crying my eyes out over the past. I shook my head. This pointless suffering was useless.

When at least an hour had passed, the door's locks shot back. _Clang, clang, clang, crack. Clang, clang, clang, crack. Clang, clang, clang, crack._

And the door flew open.

Two guards marched in and took positions on the sides of the door. Two more took positions on the sides of my chair, swords out and at the ready. I considered the possibilities of battle. If I fought, would I win?

And then a fifth figure walked into the room. When I saw him, my breath hitched. If _he_ was here…

It was. My enemy. The leader.

"Hello, Alyssa," he said. "You've been living in the cave all this time, think, and you'd run away from running water, heating and air conditioning, hot meals three times a day, and no one trying to kill you. Imagine."

I stared straight ahead. Nothing he said would shake me. I thought of something else. The snow outside. The back of my hand. The glint of one of the guards' swords.

"Won't you say hello to your old friend?" he said.

I started to speak, but stopped myself before my mouth opened. _You are not my friend,_ was what I was about to say, but I realized how ridiculous that sounded.

"Well," he said, acting hurt, "I have someone who wants to see you."

"I don't want to see _them_ ," I said.

"Oh, but I think you'll enjoy their company for a bit," he replied. "But first, let's remember what started all this, shall we?"

He reached for me. I jumped backwards, knocking the chair over and landing on my feet.

"No," I growled. "Don't _think_ about forcing that on me."

"Oh, but my dear," he said, with a smile. "I have. For so, so long. I've wanted to see your agonized face. Your attacks on my men have been most expensive, and I'd like some payback for that."

He reached towards me again.

"No!" I shouted, desperate. I couldn't go back. Not after these years of keeping my heart locked away. I swung at his face. His other hand shot up, catching my fist.

The four guard started to come towards me, but he waved them back. "I want to see how well she's progressed since last I saw her," he said. "Not much, I believe."

I shot my knee up, planning to hit him in the jaw.

Planning.

He flipped me backwards and jumped back, all in one movement. I landed painfully on my back.

He touched my forehead. "Let's go back seven years," he said, and we were gone.


	13. Of Easy Wind And Downy Flake

We appeared. We were in the place where my people had lived, for generations.

"You remember?" my enemy asked me. "Remember the dining…what did they call it? Dining pavilion?"

"I will kill you," I promised, and lunged for him. But my hands went right through his throat.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said. "We're not really here, having just traveled back to the collective memories of every man I have. So you see, we'll only be able to see anything that my men saw, or that I saw. You can't kill me, since we're not really here. Your body is limp on the floor of your cell, and my body is frozen above you. Just…save your strength."

He looked back. We were standing on the hill. The same hill I'd come down every day of seven years. But now, in the middle of summer, there was no snow. Grass, leaves, shrubs, abounded.

"Well, well, well," my enemy said. "It's just another day in…what was the name of it?"

"You know full well," I growled. "Don't be an idiot."

"Well, we'll wait to see if _this_ jogs your memory," he said, and looked to the sky.

My people were going on their business in the tiny, village-like area below. I saw my father, my mother. I even caught a glimpse of myself.

But seeing my parents brought pain back to my heart. For seven years I've been hard, I told myself. Don't break down now.

But seeing my father again brought a sob to my throat.

Then the semi-peaceful scene below ended.

With a whistling scream, the first bomb dropped. Hitting the outside of the main living area.

The people below froze in disbelief. For centuries, no one had attacked.

And now their safety was gone. They panicked, screaming, running in all directions.

The next bombs dropped. Hitting buildings, people, vehicles. The hill we were on, splintering the great tree.

And the first wave of trucks rolled over the hill.

Inside the lead truck I could see my enemy, younger, but just as evil. My enemy standing with me now frowned at his younger self.

"Did I wear _that_ on my day of triumph?" he muttered to himself. "Gah."

The troops in the trucks leaped out. The first wave, thirty of them, charged down the hill, waving their swords.

The younger version of my enemy nodded. He said something to his aide that I couldn't hear over the noise of battle below, and his aide nodded.

"Open fire!" he shouted to the rest of the troops.

Twenty men, each carrying a disassembled turret gun, jumped out of the trucks and ran to the crown of the hill. In seconds, the turrets were up and firing.

"Let's walk among them, shall we?" my enemy asked me. He waved to follow him.

I followed him down the hill. At the bottom, my people fought the soldiers, hand to hand. But the turrets from above rained death down on them. So many were dead from bullet wounds.

I spotted my father. He was fighting two soldiers. They were no match for him, but he had to protect…

Me.

I was running down the street, screaming in terror, and he was following me, shouting curses at the invaders.

"No!" I yelled to him. "Leave me! Fight back! Wipe them out!"

He could. He was the greatest warrior in history.

But he was stuck protecting me.

With a shout, he kicked one of the soldiers in the stomach. He spun and sliced through the other one's chest.

Then he ran after me. He picked me up by my shirt and took me to where we lived.

By the time he got back to the front lines, my people had lost.

A pile of their bodies lay at the entrance. Then there were maybe twenty, who were tied, prisoners.

He put away his sword. "Don't kill them," he pled with my enemy. "What do you want?"

"To wipe you out," my enemy's younger self replied. "Tie him."

Three soldiers ran over and bound my father.

He bowed his head. "What will you do with us?" he asked my enemy.

"Well, first I will kill you all," he answered. "Then burn your houses, then take any young ones and take them prisoner."

"Why are you doing this?" my father asked. "How did you know of us?"

"To answer your questions," my enemy said. "First, because I hate you all. You should never have existed. And secondly. There are many things I know. And many ways I know them. I know your names. Your numbers. Your strengths and weaknesses. Yes, I believe I know everything about you."

He smiled. "Percy Jackson."


	14. The Woods Are Lovely, Dark And Deep

They slaughtered them. Every last hero's throat was cut. The ground was stained red with the blood of the greatest warriors in history.

My father was last. He had not struggled, hadn't cursed or pled.

My enemy paused. "Well," he said. "You're as brave as I thought. You know, you're one of the braver heroes I've met."

My father shrugged. "I'll say goodbye now," he said. "I'll never see you again."

"Oh, no, I'm sure we'll meet in the afterlife," my enemy laughed.

"We won't be in the same place," my father murmured.

Those were the last words he said.

We were back in my cell. My enemy smiled and pulled away from my forehead.

"Well, Alyssa," he said. "You've seen your father again! Isn't that nice?"

"I'll see him the second you kill me," I growled. "But he was right. I'll never see you again. Elysium isn't for _murderers_."

He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw.

"My dear girl," he said at last. "Why don't you go to your father, then? _Right now._ "

He yanked his sword from its holster. My foot went up and cracked, connecting with his face.

He screamed and stumbled back. A guard ran forward, waving his sword. I slipped beneath him. Then the other three charged, but I dodged past them and ran out the door.

Behind me I heard cries and shouts of fury. I ran down the hall, not wanting to wait and be killed.

I ran towards the doors. On a weapons rack hung my knives, on a belt, ready to be taken. I ran out through the doors, into the woods.

I slid to a stop. The snow filled the air and the woods, bathing it all in a blueish light. The beauty of the scene was amazing. The dim light of evening filtered through the clouds and the branches, creating an ambiance specific to the woods of Camp Half-Blood.

And so I ran. Through the woods. On and on.

Until I came to a stop, a quarter of a mile away from the House. I had a promise. To Calen, and a mutual one to Garrett. They were my family now.

I turned back.


	15. But I Have Promises To Keep

So I re-entered the House. The doors were open, the sounds of pursuit gone. An eerie silence hung over the ancient walls.

I ran to the cells. Each door had a number. I tried them all.

The ones that turned easily I ignored before the door was open. The locked ones I sliced through with my knives.

Some were empty. Some had items.

And in the second to last one, there were two figures, sitting on their chairs.

"Garrett?" I asked. "Calen?"

"Who…" came a voice from one. "Alyssa!" shouted the other one.

I was engulfed in a huge hug. They were indeed my friends. Unharmed, (for the most part) and happy to see me.

"Guys, guys," I said. "We have to leave. My enemy—our enemy—is looking for me. He'll be here any minute. We have to go."

They followed me down the hall. Past the last door, and into the entry hall.

"Wait," Calen said. "What about that door?"

"The last cell?" I asked. I went to the knob and turned it.

Well, tried to turn it. It didn't turn.

"Let's see what's behind here," I said, slicing through the door with my knife. The knife went in an inch, until…

It was stopped.

"What's blocking it?" I muttered to myself.

"Let me," Calen said, having taken his own weapon from the rack. He took a swing. The blade went to where the knife had stopped. It bounced back, but Calen said, "I think I got it!"

He swung again. The blade went through.

After that, it was a few seconds until the door was down and we stepped through. The first thing I noticed was that the room was incredibly bright. Floodlights lined the walls of the twenty-by-twenty foor room. The second thing I noticed was that it was occupied.

"Hello?" I asked. "Who are you?"

It was a man. Black haired, wearing a gray prisoner's suit. For a moment, I thought it was my father. But…this man didn't seem like it. He was paler, longer hair, but seemed…not evil.

He nodded to us. "Hello. Who are you three?"

"Alyssa," I said. "Daughter of Percy and Annabeth Jackson."

His eyes widened for a moment. "You…you're…" Then he controlled himself. "All right," he said. "I assume you're going to help me. Let's go."

"Wait!" I said. "What's your name?"

"My name is Nico," he said. "Nico di Angelo."


	16. And Miles To Go Before I Sleep

I knew him. One of the greatest heroes. I followed him outside, waiting breathlessly to ask questions.

"Why did he keep you alive?" I asked, as soon as we had gotten into the forest.

"He was making a deal with Hades," he said. "Or rather, I was a ransom. If Hades sent him to Elysium, I would live. If not, I would suffer a long and agonizing death. He was one of the few evil men who have no fear of death."

"And where are we going?" I asked.

"Anywhere, you like," he said. "Anywhere where there's a shadow."

We ran into the woods, trampling through the snow. We weren't cold or tired, now that we were safe and free.

We had a family, and though all our hearts were broken once, we could help each other heal. Everything is better when a family is together. And though the snow was cold, we warmed each other. Though the path was dark, we lit each other's way.

We had a family. Nico di Angelo, the son of Hades. Alyssa Jackson, granddaughter of the gods of sea and wisdom. Calen Bennet, son of Hermes. Garrett Konungr, son of Apollo. The gods would watch over us.

We had a long way to go. But we had each other.

" _Men who believe in eternal life seldom fear death._ " – Winston Churchill

" _And though my heart is torn,/I will praise you in this storm._ " – Casting Crowns

" _It may be true that he travels furthest who travels alone. But the goal thus reached is not worth reaching._ " – Theodore Roosevelt

" _Everybody needs beauty, as well as bread, places to play in and play in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul alike._ " – John Muir

"Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound's the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep _._ "

– Stopping By Woods On a Snowy Evening, by Robert Frost


	17. Miles To Go Before I Sleep

That's it for this one, guys! Wanna know what happens next? Well, in the immortal words of someone I don't remember:

 _There's bread and cheese upon the shelf, if you want another story, tell it yourself._

Yeah. I'm done. Thanks to madwamoose, who was literally the only person to review. Thank you so much, M.

Alyssa survives, if you really want to know. She and her new family train the new generation of demigods. The legacy lives on.

Now, I must get back to my other stories. But before I do: a word. There are stories of mine that fit into each other. These I will call the 'Jake Universe' stories. They do star our favorite characters, but they'll all have me in them. If they are part of the Jake Universe, I'll put it in the summary.

Atra du evarinya ono varda.


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